


Apropos of Wet Pavement

by Feekins



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Slash, Present Tense, takes place during s3e3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feekins/pseuds/Feekins
Summary: Nothing can spoil Oswald’s good mood the evening he picks up Ed from Arkham Asylum.....well, almost nothing. A one-shot containing hurt/comfort, many stomach butterflies, benign invasion of personal space, one worksafe bathtub scene, and a particularly perturbed and petulant Penguin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic I originally posted on my tumblr - a monster of a one-shot I couldn't stop expanding on. I'm quite proud of how it turned out, though! As always, enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

* * *

 

It hurts when it rains - not every time, not always immediately, but often enough to be considered a pattern and a nuisance. It must have something to do with pressure changes, he thinks. When the weather takes a turn for the dreary, it’s only a matter of time until that telltale twinge starts up again. Sometimes it’s a simple, constant ache. Other times, there’s this awful  _sharpness_  to it that’s so unlike any of Oswald’s usual muscle pains in that leg, the soreness that comes with his unnatural way of walking. Out of nowhere, it pierces through him, and that’s when he knows it’s going to be another one of Those Days.

Mind you, Gotham’s newest politician can push through the pain just fine. He’s been doing it to some capacity all his life. That occasional sudden  _stab_  is something else, though. It’s unpredictable, cropping up at any time of day and lingering anywhere from mere minutes to several hours....and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Of course, it’s the  _last_  thing on his mind the evening he picks up Ed from Arkham.

Soft, planing splashes as the limousine barrels through puddles. The larger ones pull slightly at the tires, but for the most part, such great patches of standing water are few and far between on this particular route. It’s all background noise to Oswald, all in one ear and out the other. He’s restless in his seat, legs crossed tight, fingers ever fidgeting and shifting their grip on his cane. One might mistake it for nervous energy if not for the wide, barely-contained smile on his face.

“This is it.”

No reply; Aside from him, the back seats are empty. While the Penguin still has his eyes out the window, the outside world does not quite register to him. Back alleys, decrepit stoops, brick buildings of all shapes and sizes roll by unseen. Oswald gives a brief squirm, lets out a happy little hum, swept up as he is in his own fervent anticipation.

_Getting closer left turn then straight to the gates closer yes soon._

“My dear friend is  _finally_  coming home!”

It feels so good, so reaffirming to say it aloud, even if there’s no one there to hear him. Just having those words flow from his mouth makes the situation and its immediacy that much more  _real_ to him. Oswald  _really is_  moments away from seeing Ed again - only this time, there will be no fences, no guards, no distant din of the deranged. At long last, Ed will be a free man.

_Free..._

The smile fades, if minutely, tightens and thins. Memories of his own release from Arkham flutter unbidden before his mind’s eye. The happy, naïve daze. His torment at the hands of Butch and Tabitha. Visiting Ed at his apartment... Oswald doesn’t blame him for ultimately turning him away. If he’s honest with himself, he knows he would have done the same. Ed’s current predicament is very different from that, though. For one thing, he is perfectly sane - as opposed to the ruined, pathetic state Professor Strange had left Oswald in. For another, his friend simply cannot turn him away to fend for himself. By now, the green-bathed studio apartment they both know and love has likely long been in the hands of a new tenant. Oswald knows nothing about Ed’s parents, but he feels it’s safe to assume it’s unlikely he would receive any assistance from them.

Without Oswald, Ed has nothing. That much is plain to see.

He needs to get back on his feet. He needs to be in a stable environment where he can reestablish himself. He needs a _home_. Oswald is more than happy to provide that. They’re such good friends, and it’s not like they haven’t shared a living space before. Besides, there’s _plenty_ of room at the mansion, too much for one man. Ed should be able to settle in most comfortably.

Familiar buildings loom ahead. They grab Oswald’s attention, pull him from his reverie, and a new burst of excitement courses through him. By the time the limousine pulls up to the gates, it’s reached a fever pitch, manifesting as a fluttering in his stomach, jittering in joyful anticipation. Two figures stand outside, one just inside the gate and one outside of it. It’s all he can do not to throw the car door open then and there. Instead, Oswald quickly moves to shuffle closer to it, uncrossing his legs and pushing away with his feet.

It’s been a long day. The soreness is to be expected. The sharp  _pang_  through his ankle isn’t. A sudden intake of breath through his nose and a grimace, but the Penguin is undeterred. More shuffling and he’s at the window, rolling it down, then using his good leg to half-stand, thrusting his head and shoulders out into the cool night air. How his face hasn’t split in two from how hard he’s grinning is beyond him.

“Hello, old friend!”

And now, it’s  _real_.

Right there before the wrought-iron gate, Ed smiles warmly back at him. He’s free, officially sane, out of those horrid black and white stripes, and.......yes, that’s  _definitely_  the sweater Oswald sent him, and it  _aches_  how incredibly happy his heart is at this realization. He doesn’t wait for Ed’s approach. The man has barely taken two steps before Oswald’s opening the door, beckoning enthusiastically, “Come, come! No reason to stay any longer than we need to!”

The grin Ed gives him in response is breathtaking.

“Agreed.”

One last look over his shoulder at the now-closed gate, at the meek old head of the asylum’s retreating back, then Ed closes the distance between him and the car, sliding into the seat directly across from his excited benefactor. By the time the door is closed, he’s already falling back into the habit of forgetting the concept of personal space. At one time, it was off-putting, but now, the way Ed leans in and clasps the other’s hands in his is more than welcome.

“I don’t know how you did it, but thank you, Oswald.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about!” All sweet words and light, feigned innocence. Then, as he too leans forward, his tone shifts and his hands clasp back. “But it is _truly_  a delight to see you, Ed, and to have you back in the real world!”

A slight lurch as the limousine rolls into a slow three-point turn. The larger of the two pairs of hands briefly squeezes before releasing and retreating to their owner’s lap.

“I’m glad to be here.”

Another lurch and the limousine finally pulls away, putting Arkham Asylum behind them for good - God willing, of course.

“You’d been in that wretched place long enough,” Oswald nods. “ _Too_ long, to be honest, but I count our blessings. I’m only sorry I didn’t do this soo-” 

Ed cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be. Even if Professor Strange had allowed it, it would have looked suspicious and...likely worked against your public image and reputation. And bad press is the  _last_  thing you need right now, no?”

“No indeed,” Oswald all but beams. For the umpteenth time this ride, he squirms in his seat for a second, just enough to get comfortable and shake off a little of the giddy restlessness…right as the car rolls over a pothole. The resulting jolt goes straight to Oswald’s right foot. Right on cue, another  _stab_ laces through his ankle and lower leg. He only just manages to bite back a sharp gasp.

“Oswald?”

So _that’s_ how it’s going to be - not one-and-done, but persistent. And now Ed’s giving him this _look_ , mouth troubled, brow creased. The sharp pain in his ankle recedes into a dull but deep, inexplicable soreness, like sensitive teeth after a sip of ice water. Oswald shifts again, bringing up his mal-aligned foot to cross and rest casually atop his left leg. As he does so, he’s sure to flash Ed a disarming smile.

“Yes?”

No answer at first. Part of him hates the way Ed’s eyes bore into his own in the silence. Lovely as they are, they’re too critical, too perceptive. It’s like they’re strip-searching him from the inside out, but for what? Fortunately, it’s over in an instant. Ed shakes his head and his expression relaxes, save for a growing smirk - one that’s all too familiar.

Oswald knows _exactly_ what’s coming.

“Work with or without me, whichever you pick. Success is assured if to me you stick. What am I?”

A chuckle, then, “I have no idea.”

“...Are you sure you don’t want to take a guess?”

“ _Out_ with it, Edward!”

“Plan! It’s a plan,” comes Ed’s gleeful answer, “something which _you_ obviously have, or else I’d still be staring at a gray wall. So, my friend... Care to fill me in?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Despite the pain lingering in his foot, Oswald can’t help but grin back.

No. He’s not going to let his stupid leg ruin _this_ night.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the ride back to the mansion is blessedly uneventful, their time spent catching up with one another and conspiring. Absorbed as they are in their conversation, it comes as a surprise to both of them when, at long last, a lackey pulls the door open for them. Ed peers out…and right away, his eyebrows rise.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was a _mansion_.”

There’s another little fluttering within Oswald as he watches Ed’s expression fill with an almost childlike wonder. He could sit here forever, he thinks, just drinking in his dear friend’s quiet awe. Ed must not get out of the city very often. Part of Oswald wonders just how much of his life he’s spent amidst all those skyscrapers, walking those busy streets, breathing that thick, smoggy air. Then again, such industrialism suits Ed. The old apartment had been a testament to that. Out here, it’s as if he’s stepped into a different world. The way Ed goggles up at the mansion before him, it’s as if he’s gazing upon some old English castle.

“It meets your expectations, I hope?” The Penguin grins coyly.

“Not at all, actually...” With that, Ed turns back to him, looking just as playful. “I’m sorry, Oswald, but your descriptions of it do _not_ do it justice.”

Pride swells in his chest, pride and warmth towards the man before him. It only intensifies when Ed then gestures toward the door.

“After you!”

“No, no,” Oswald waves, “go on, I insist!”

Ed doesn’t need to be told twice. Certificate of sanity and meager belongings in hand, he steps out and away to take in as much of the mansion’s perennial grandeur and charm as possible. Oswald follows suit...and the regret hits instantly.

“ _Ah-!_ ”

No sooner than his foot taps down on the rain-slick driveway, the stabbing pain is back, and it’s so much worse now that he’s put his full weight on it. On the inside, Oswald is _mortified_ , hyper-aware of the two sets of eyes suddenly fixed so intently on him, following his every move.

“Boss...?”

“Are you alright?”

But Oswald, stubborn as he is, is already out of the car. He can see the concern written all over Ed’s face as clear as day, and in his peripheral, the nameless lackey is a little closer, reaching out to help. Something about it all sets off a little spark of fury within him.

“ _Fine!_ ” Oswald snaps, all but slapping helpful hands aside. “Just. Fine.”

He doesn’t care if they buy it or not. Gripping his cane a little tighter, he moves forward, stone-faced against the shooting pain that comes with every other step. The lackey retreats, and he hears the car door closing behind him. Smart man.

Ed, on the other hand, trails after Oswald, following a little too closely. It’s grating now, only making his annoyance and self-consciousness spike.

“You’re sure?”

“ _Absolutely._ ”

Not another word is spoken between them as they head inside. By now, the mansion is near-empty, all but a handful of bodyguards having retreated to their respective homes for the evening. Silence surrounds them, broken only by their own footsteps and the errant creaks and groans of the building’s age. It’s a wonder Oswald’s troublesome joints aren’t doing similar. Needless to say, he decides _against_ the full house tour he’d been planning earlier. Besides, all Ed really needs to see tonight is his personal quarters. Such a shame, though; He’d _really_ been looking forward to sitting down and catching up further over tea...

“I’ll show you to your room.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so clipped. Nettlesome though his too-close presence is, Ed is hardly deserving of his ire at the moment.

“...by all means, lead the way.”

No sooner than his friend replies, Oswald makes a beeline for the stairway - and if looks could kill, the whole damn thing would be on fire right now. As it is, it endures his stare down. It’s mocking him, but he is not so easily defeated, even as he pauses at its very feet. To be honest, he _does_ have half a mind to ask Ed for assistance.....but unfortunately, the other, more stubborn half of him wins out.

_Just get it over with..._

With a deep breath, Oswald steels himself and starts climbing. It’s a miserable process, to say the least. His ankle twinges dreadfully. He can _feel_ his knee creaking in protest. Thank goodness he has such little distance left to walk today - and thank goodness the pain isn’t getting any worse. Awful though it is, it’s something he can live with a little longer, long enough to wash up and get to bed. Those promises serve as his motivation, driving him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Then, barely halfway up the stairs, a strong arm snakes around Oswald’s back and under his arm. He nearly jumps out of his skin, feels his cane slip, but then Ed’s beside him, all but half-supporting, half-carrying him.

“What’re you-?!”

“Right, I think that’s enough of that, Mr. Penguin!”

“ _Unhand me this instant!_ ”

“I’m sorry, Oswald. I’m afraid I can’t do that!” Adjusting - no, _tightening_ his hold on him, Ed adds, “You know, there’s no harm in asking for help.”

“ _I don’t **need** help,_ ” Oswald bites out indignantly, and yet... Despite his anger and reluctance, he finds himself leaning against, putting his trust in the warm body beside him all the same.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“ _Don’t_ you?”

When he makes the mistake of glancing up for a particularly resentful glower, he’s met with none other than that  _infuriating_ smile Ed gets when he knows he’s right about something. Just as Oswald’s about to protest further, his friend cuts him off with, “Your leg’s been bothering you all night. In the car, before my plan riddle? You flinched.”

“I did _not-!_ ”

“And that was a cry of _pain_ when you were getting out of the car. Also, your limp is obviously worse! You’re leaning on your cane _much_ more than usual. You are _dragging your foot_ more than usual. You look _incredibly_ unstable...”

Now, Oswald begins to feel convicted. With every point he’s made thus far, Ed’s tone has gradually shifted from self-satisfied to brutally honest and firm. It’s the same tone he’d used back at the apartment when he’d explained why the injured Penguin needed to lie low and recover. His friend is right and they _both_ know it. Oswald’s about ready to concede defeat just as they come upon the last stair, but...

“...and for someone who claims to be fine, you’re being _awfully_ defensive.”

With a huff, he pulls away from the taller man the moment they step onto the landing. It’s a shaky move, one that has Ed taking his arm to help steady him - and damn it all, even now, he can’t make himself pull away. The next thing Oswald knows, he’s being steered down the hallway, and he releases a long-suffering sigh.

“Ed, what are you doing _now?_ ”

“Change of plans. I’ll take _you_ to _your_ bedroom, then _you_  can tell me where mine is.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can-”

“Oswald.”

Ed stops them dead in their tracks. The Penguin can _feel_ him trying to seek out his eyes and defiantly keeps his head down in response. It’s so childish of him, he knows this. He almost expects Ed to force his chin up...but he does no such thing.

“ _Oswald._ ”

Damn it all, he can’t _not_ meet the other’s steady gaze. Ed’s entirely too earnest, too understanding in this moment, even before he continues, “You don’t have to tell me what’s really going on. Just whether or not there’s anything I can do.”

It takes a surprising amount of effort to force down the inexplicable guilt and vexation, and even more not to look away. Oswald swallows, licks his lips.

“No. I can take care of it myself.”

The other’s expression is unreadable.

“I mean it. Leave it _alone_ , Ed.”

At long last, a slow smile - one that Oswald isn’t sure he trusts - breaks the spell. “Very well! I’m still helping you to your room, though.”

Oswald doesn’t even _try_ to hold back a loud grumble. He lets Ed pull him along just another few steps, until for the sake of pettiness, he replies, “Then you might want to turn around, because we just walked right past it.”

“....Of course.”

A pause, then a pivot, and Ed helps him back to the ornate door to the master bedroom.

Let it not be said that Oswald hadn’t been able to get in the final insult.

 

* * *

 

The mirror is completely fogged up by the time Oswald slips into the tub. With a drawn-out sigh, he sinks down until the faintly pink water laps at his ears, luxuriating in the warmth that envelopes him. Already, the mess of stiff muscles all up and down his bad leg begins to unravel. If only it could have the same effect on his mind. Tired blue eyes flutter open. A faint scowl creases Oswald’s brow. He sits up, hunches over slightly, pulls his left leg up to rest his chin atop his knee. Before him, one hand cuts through the water just below the surface. Rosy particles swirl and dance, foam twists and curls. After a moment, his scowl deepens. A hand comes up, up out of the water.......then splashes down through the middle of the spectacle.

Tonight, not even a bath can distract this Penguin from his brooding.

It’s not often that Oswald finds himself questioning his own actions. He’s always so self-assured, so passionate, throwing himself so completely into all that he does. His own emotions sweep him up so easily, and sometimes this gets him into trouble, but never anything that’s insurmountable. Tonight is no different.

His foot is the source of his sour mood. That much is obvious. As he reviews this conclusion, Oswald releases his leg and slips down low in the water again, stretching across the full length of the tub. A moment’s hesitation, and then he gives his right foot an experimental push against the tub wall. Shooting pain, as piercing as the first time earlier that evening. He hisses, then sputters, having accidentally drawn a bit of water in between his teeth. Coughing as he pulls himself upright again, Oswald shakes his head, wet bangs slapping at his temples.

_Stupid._

It hurts, but it’s not much different from the muscle aches that plague him daily. He can deal with it. He _knows_ he can. Why can’t they see that? Anger boils up inside of Oswald, rises like bubbles in a flute of sparkling champagne. His mind first flashes to the man who’d opened the limousine door, who’d tried to grab him when he’d stepped out. The brazen fool was lucky his boss hadn’t just lopped off those offending hands then and there. And Ed...

Out whistles a sullen breath, anger turning to irresolute bewilderment. Ed is his _friend_. Why in the world is Oswald mad at him? It feels as if it should be so instinctively obvious, but as he racks his mind, the reasoning behind the rage eludes him. Ed really hasn’t done anything wrong. From their arrival at the mansion, Ed has only shown concern for his wellbeing - and for whatever reason, this grates on him.

With both hands, the Penguin gathers up as much foam as he can hold. So fluffy, so fragrant, glistening so prettily in the light...until Oswald brings his hands together and squeezes the foam between his fingers, letting it dribble down his arms and back into the water. This shouldn’t be an issue, not after all they’ve been through, after how far they’ve come. Ed has seen Oswald at his very lowest and subsequently helped him in _countless_ ways. For that, he is grateful. But this...? Somehow, this feels like too much. It’s stifling and thus infuriating because he doesn’t _want_ that from Ed, doesn’t want him to give him that look of...

_...oh._

Something within him sinks. Oswald scowls again, draws his left leg back up and hugs it to his chest. That fluttering feeling in his stomach has returned, but this time, it’s uneasy. It eats at his core, vindicates him so cruelly.

The epiphany comes out soft, barely above a whisper.

“...I don’t want him to pity me.”

It’s irrational - no, it’s _completely_ stupid. So what if Ed’s worried? Why should such a thing bother him? Why should _Oswald Cobblepot_ care? His scowl deepens, his arms tighten around his leg. He’s strong, unrelenting, unshakable. His earlier show of anger had been _completely_ justified, he thinks. He _had_ to show them he was capable, not fragile. He’s the goddamn _kingpin_ of Gotham’s underworld! He can take care of himself! They all need to _know_ that!

But Ed isn’t another henchman or business partner. He’s always been so much more than that. Over the past year or so, he’s become so close, so dear. He knows him in ways no one else ever has before, and he  _accepts_ him for who and what he is. Perhaps that’s why the thought of Ed  _pitying_ him hurts Oswald so.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there curled in on himself. He’s far too busy mulling everything over, just barely paying attention to how the foam around him gradually dissipates. When at last his mind comes back down to Earth, Oswald is surprised to find himself shivering: The bath water is practically lukewarm.

He’s never washed up so quickly, nor has he ever been so eager to pull the plug.

The pity, though... It nags at him, poisons his thoughts as he clambers out of the tub and goes through the motions of drying off, ever cautious of how he moves his bad leg and foot. Suppose Ed _does_ pity Oswald. It throws their whole friendship into a different light, doesn’t it? All those times he’s helped him out, tended to both his broken body and tormented mind...all because he’s  _felt bad_ for him? It’s an awful realization, one that makes Oswald feel distantly sick, because if Ed’s only stuck around because he feels sorry for him...

The force with which Oswald scrubs his towel over his head is completely unnecessary for the simple act of drying his hair. When at last he abandons his towel, his hair stands up every which way, a reflection of his troubled state of mind. Maybe...it had been a mistake to help Ed out of Arkham Asylum, if that’s how he really felt about Oswald. That thought hurts worse than his leg as he limps out into the bedroom. To his exasperation, it seems a long, hot soak isn’t sufficient treatment for tonight’s aches and pains. Oswald’s knee still feels stiff, his foot taut, his ankle laced with that piercing twinge. It’s enough to elicit from him an actual _whine_  before he finally reaches the bed and seats himself on the edge.

 _Nope_ , he thinks, snatching up his pajamas, folded so neatly down by the footboard. _I’m not dealing with any more of this tonight. Not Ed, not the pain, not-_

A gentle knocking at the bedroom door cuts through the silence. Thinking his mind is playing tricks on him, Oswald decides to ignore it and goes back to pulling his boxers and pants the rest of the way up his hips.

The knocking resumes, a little louder this time.

“...Oswald? _Oswald?_ Are you still awake?”

“.....oh, to _hell_ with it.”

Grumbling under his breath, the Penguin shrugs on his silk night shirt and grabs his cane from where it’s propped up against the nightstand. The world is all bent against him tonight, he just _knows_ it. Within seconds - terrible, _agonizing_ seconds - Oswald is wrenching the door open, glare in place, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line.

“I said _leave it alone_. Didn’t you hear me?”

The smart little grin on Ed’s face makes Oswald want to scream.

“I did! I just decided not to listen. Your leg isn’t still bothering you, is it?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” The shorter of the two shifts in the doorway, hoping against hope his friend doesn’t notice the way he winces before putting all his weight on his good leg. Ed’s brow creases, and with that, Oswald regrets getting up and answering the door, feeling his already low spirits sink a little lower.

_Please don’t give me that look..._

“I see. May I come in?”

Somehow, he still can’t refuse him. Making a show of rolling his eyes, he steps away, leaving Ed to let himself in. It’s terrible how guarded, how wary Oswald feels right now. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not around Ed, but the new doubts linger. Biting the inside of his cheek at the ever-present aches and the shooting pain, he beats a slow, wobbly retreat to his bed. He doesn’t have to look to know the other man is right on his tail.

“So tell me, my friend,” Oswald announces sardonically as he settles back down on the mattress and turns a leery eye to his pursuer, “What part of ‘I can take care of it’ do you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand completely; However, considering the circumstances, I have to disagree.”

Oswald narrows his eyes and doesn’t even try to hold back an incensed scoff. Ed takes a seat near the foot of the bed - this time, giving the other a little space. He sets something down beside him, but Oswald isn’t paying attention to it. Ed’s brow furrows, and he presses, “Oswald, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. There is nothing wrong with not wanting help.”

“And _why_ is it that you don’t want help?”

“Because this isn’t the same as last time, _Ed!_ ”

He isn’t helpless, damn it. He doesn’t need _coddling_. The mere thought of it makes Oswald’s mouth curl into a sneer, practically  _daring_ Ed to just try it. Ed visibly retreats, straightens his back a little as he carefully considers his reply. It takes another moment for the confusion in his eyes to clear.

“You’re referring...to the time you recuperated at my apartment.”

“ _Yes._ ”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant to our current situation.”

Ed sounds so honest, so endlessly _patient_ , it makes Oswald feel guilty, but he’s too caught up in his own frustration to even _think_ of backpedaling now.

“Then allow me to elaborate,” he snarls. “When you found me, I was _dying_. I _could not help myself_. Now, as you can _plainly_ see, I am _neither_ of those things! This isn’t a gunshot wound to the back, _Ed_ , this is something I am _perfectly capable_ of managing on my own!”

“I _understand_ that _._ ”

“Then what are you doing here?!”

“I’m here to offer whatever help I can because you have been  _obviously_ _hurting_  all evening and _I am concerned_.”

“ _Don’t be!_ I don’t want your _pity!_ ”

The moment the words fall from his mouth, Oswald’s tirade comes to a screeching halt. Alarmed, distantly hurt, Ed stares back at him. It makes Oswald much too self-conscious. Suddenly, he realizes he’s leaning in towards Ed as if seconds away from physically lashing out, his fists tightly balled in the duvet beneath him. And Ed... Dark eyes are locked on his, steady and searching and then _understanding_.

In that moment, Oswald feels so terribly small and vulnerable, like a baby bird moments away from being plucked from its nest by human hands.

“.... _pity?_ ”

Oswald’s eyes drop to his lap. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything, Ed will let it go...

“Oswald? Is that what this is about?”

But now Ed’s leaning in to seek out his eyes. Oswald bristles at the sudden closeness but makes no move to draw away. He licks his lips even while his mouth is suddenly dry, then mumbles, “Maybe. Partially.”

No response. When at last he chances a fleeting glance upward, Oswald can see, practically _hear_ the gears turning in the other man’s head. The silence is all the more unbearable for it.

And then, those brown eyes are locked on his once more, and the smile Ed offers him is small but encouraging.

“Well. In any case, I brought ice and a hot water bottle - whichever you need most.” He takes the items at his side, briefly lifting each one in turn for Oswald to see. Ed shuffles a little closer as he continues, “And... If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to take a look for myself. At your leg. Just to make sure it isn’t something serious.”

“Trust me, it isn’t.”

“Can I double-check? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“I don’t think it can be fixed.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Ed’s too reassuring, too _willing to help_. It doesn’t banish all uneasiness from Oswald’s mind, but...

At a loss, Oswald lets out a blustery sigh and flops back against his many pillows. The awful doubts remain, the fear that his friend merely pities him, among other insecurities...and yet, part of him still desperately wants to trust, to  _let Ed in_. Another part wishes to go back to being petulant about the whole thing.

And so, the Penguin makes a compromise.

“So, how are we doing this, _Doctor Nygma?_ ” Without waiting for a reply, Oswald draws both of his legs up onto the bed, grabs his waistband, and promptly shimmies out of his pajama pants.

It doesn’t have the desired effect on his friend.

“...That was _hardly_ necessary,” Ed snorts, eyebrow raised in amusement. Undeterred, he moves in closer, now cross-legged before the smaller man, and reaches out to help work the other’s right foot free of the pant leg bunched up around it.

“I’d say the same thing about _this_ , yet _here we are_.”

“And here we are. Show me where it hurts?”

There’s nothing remarkable about Ed’s examination, yet Oswald eventually finds himself paying attention to every detail, to all his friend does. Ed is careful, methodical, murmuring apologies whenever he moves his foot in a way that makes him flinch.

“...bone spur from a healed fracture, most likely. It could be part of why your foot’s turned this way, depending on what broke and the angle at which it healed...”

The smaller patient isn’t listening. Oswald’s mind drifts as a thumb smooths over the misshapen bump of his ankle. Large, warm hands continue to manipulate the limb. Fingers gently probe, trace curves of strained muscle. He doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to until Ed repeats himself, prompting him to look up like a deer caught in the headlights.

“ _Oswald_. Why would I think you’re pitiful?”

His stomach clenches. Doubt, fear, hurt, all simmering deep within him, gnawing away at his insides all over again. Oswald doesn’t answer at first, but Ed doesn’t press the matter. He doesn’t tear his eyes from his, either.

After a moment, he lifts the foot in his hand. “Because of _this?_ ”

“...you’re always helping me so much,” Oswald murmurs at last. He shifts, fidgets, but unlike earlier, it’s all nerves. There’s that feeling again, that terrible vulnerability. It makes him want to clam right up. But the way Ed’s watching him, listening, and the unexpected _softness_ of his expression and words, it drives him to continue.

“I’m grateful for...all of it. For you. But you’re _too_ kind.” A forced chuckle, then, “No one’s that kind for no reason. _I’m_ not that kind-”

“If that were true, I’d still be in Arkham. Or did you arrange for my early release out of _pity?_ ”

The idea is so absurd, Oswald can’t help but gape. “Of _course_ not!”

“Then why?”

“Because I _need_ you, Ed!”

It feels like the most indisputable, the most obvious of facts, and yet.....dear God, why is his heart racing? Why does he feel fit to burst into flame at any second? Why won’t that damn fluttering in his stomach _stop?_

Ed releases his foot. Oswald doesn’t remember when they’d moved to sit so close together - any closer and he’d be in his friend’s lap. Somehow, though, it isn’t at all obtrusive or uncomfortable, and Ed’s face is bright, warm as those gentle hands.

“I need you too, Oswald. My motivation is the same as it was the day I took you in. In some ways.”

Time stands still. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this close to Ed - this moment simply doesn’t measure up to anything else they’ve shared before. Oswald feels impossibly light, almost giddy as he breathes, “What ways?”

“I _still_ admire you. I _still_ want to learn from you. But also, I’d like to continue being your friend for as long as possible.”

An immeasurable weight is lifted off Oswald’s shoulders, a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The doubt is gone, along with the feelings of insecurity. He feels so _happy_ , he can only grin so wide that his cheeks begin to ache. That happiness is contagious, it seems, for Ed’s smile only grows more tender.

In the end, there’s nothing that can be done to make the stabbing pain in Oswald’s ankle go away. Neither of them is bothered by this. After all, Ed has done all that he can and so much more. His hands return to the other’s foot to gently massage, working out whatever remaining stiffness he finds. Oswald’s content to lie there and watch, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy.

It isn’t anything like the evening he’d originally planned for the two of them. Somehow, it’s more intimate, and Oswald finds he wouldn’t trade any part of it for the world - not even the pain. 


End file.
